


And Bound, I Shall Be Cast Out By The Angels

by bigbrotherandlittlebrother



Series: Brothers!Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, Shotgunning, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbrotherandlittlebrother/pseuds/bigbrotherandlittlebrother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting on the bus, I turned and looked at the tracks the impala left in the mud. I could see the way they had carved themselves there.</p><p>And I half wondered if I would ever see Dean again</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Bound, I Shall Be Cast Out By The Angels

I was just 8 when my father came bursting through the hotel door covered in blood and torn off patches of skin. He stumbled and dropped his weapons on the floor, holding an arm against his stomach. Dean had rushed over quickly but I was unable to move; just kept staring at the gore and death on my father.

Father had looked at me with a stern, haunting look in his eyes, as if something had possessed him. He looked so angry when he gazed into my eyes. “Well, Sam, you just going to sit there, or are you going to help me?” he said, and with a shake of his head and a grunt from his mouth, Dean was soon to steer him to a chair to sit.

I got up soon after that, quietly sitting behind and staring – just staring. I had so many questions and so many chilling pictures of my dad hurt from some, unforeseen thing.

“It’s okay, Sammy. Come ‘ere.” Dean had looked at me though, and I knew that he could tell I was upset, because he held out his hand for me and I looked at it before slowly stepping forward and entwining my fingers with his. “There you go, Sammy. You’re safe.” He kept repeating.

And I did, for the least part, feel safe.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean told me once, that when I was just born, mother put me in his arms before she put me in fathers. He told me that I looked at him for a long while, quiet and without fuss. He told me that my little fingers had grasped around his thumb. He had said that he had never once heard me so quiet.

 

Once mother had passed, Dean became my sole parent. He always took care of me. Sometimes he had to work two jobs, just to bring me home food so my belly didn’t get small.

But I was a picky kid – always whined about what foods I wanted and didn’t want. I suppose that upset Dean, and thinking back to it, makes me feel like I was a selfish child.

Dean didn’t think that however, he always seemed so fixated on me and the way I held myself. He always called me brave after a bad dream. He would lay there with me for hours, just rubbing my belly and kissing my cheek.

And I always felt so sincere and content when he did that. I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what mothers did.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At age four Dean had carried me into a building full of other kids. There were toys scattered and loud chatters of laughter around the room. It looked fun and I was excited to play with all the toys around me. That was, until Dean had set me down, kissed my cheek and said ‘I’ll see you later, Sammy.’

Excitement was replaced with fear and I began to cry. I wrapped my arms tight around Dean’s shoulder and kept begging him not to leave.

He put his hand to the back of my head and held me still for a moment. His fingers had become tangled in my curly, short brown hair.

“It’s okay, Sammy. We’ll be back.” He said, but I did not want Dean to leave, I didn’t want to be left without Dean ever. Because without Dean my life felt so empty, and without Dean I would be alone.

The warmth of Dean felt good to me and his smell soothed my aching bones.

I remember a lady coming up to me a short while later. She pulled me from his arms and told me, ‘It’s okay Hun, they’ll be back.’ And Dean had insisted that she was right, and that he would be back. So I had no other choice but to trust him on his word.

He ruffled my hair before kissing my cheek once more. “Promise Sammy, it won’t be long,” he said, and then he left and I started to cry again, I turned my face into the nice lady’s neck and cried the rest of the day, just wondering when he would be back.

And I wasn’t worried he wouldn’t come back, no not at all, because Dean always came back for me, and he always would.

* * *

 

When I was 11 I woke up screaming. Dreams had cursed my every night sleep, but this one was awful and I sobbed into my pillow with Dean beside me rubbing my back.

I told him the story, the story of mom, beautiful, loving mom, hugging me tight – and about how we had spent hours running through meadows of grass and about the lily pads that painted the ponds around us pink. It was such a beautiful dream and I had took advantage and wished to never wake. But mother had turned to me and her eyes had become a misty yellow, before turning black.

Just thinking about her eyes, and telling Dean about her eyes, made my heart beat race up again. So he put my hand to his mouth and kissed it, pleading for me to calm down and telling me that nothing bad would ever happen to me.

Later that night, after Dean had left me for a short while, telling me had to talk to dad about something, he returned with him. Father had looked at me, set himself on the edge of my bed and felt my forehead for a fever. He said it was important I tell him about the dream and anything else I could remember. And I did, every little detail I could remember.

The next day we were on the road again.  


* * *

 

It was the day of my fourteenth birthday. Dad was out on a hunt and I had situated myself on top of the hotel bed, book in my hand, reading about how stars and constellations work. I was absorbed in it and couldn’t move my eyes away from the book.

But the next minute there was a noise at the door and I had paused, looked at it open, looked at Dean looking at me. He was getting beautiful, a nice, even scruff at the bottom of his face. His green eyes making my heart dance every time they focused on mine.

“Hey, Sammy” He said, and the name didn’t use to get to me, but it had now. The little drag out of the words he always did, turned my dick stiff – imagining him saying that to me while he fucked me into the mattress, tender and sweet like I knew he would.

 

I never used to think of Dean like this, not really. Sometimes I’m suspicious if it was just my hormones, and puberty, and whatever my crazy brain had been up to.

But as soon as the thought occurred, it had left too, because I was already sure I was in love with Dean. I was sure four years ago, and I was still sure now.

 

“Hey Dean,” I replied to him, but I didn’t dare drag out the letters at the end, no that was Deans thing and not something I had wanted to come accustomed to.

“So here’s what I got planned for tonight,” he looked at me, smirk on his face, before pulling out a bag of what I assumed was weed, and shaking it around. “’Whatd’ya say? I mean you’re finally fourteen, Sammy. You’re growing up fast.”

He flung the bag in my direction and I was quick to catch it. I looked at the contents and my nose crinkled at the thought of the smell. The smell had always smelt bad to me.

But I returned my glance to him and smiled, because whatever Dean wanted to do, I wanted to do too. “Okay, Dean”

 

And later that night he had took my jaw in his hand, looked at me, kissed my cheek like he always did, and blew the smoke in my mouth. I choked and he laughed saying ‘you’ll get used to it with time, Sammy.’

That was my favorite birthday.

 

* * *

 

It was the night before telling Dean that I was leaving for Stanford, that he fucked me. He cried and begged me not to leave, while at the same time understanding what I needed and telling me he loved me.

He was gentle opening me up. One finger at first, then two after he was sure it wouldn’t cause me any discomfort.

By three fingers I was withering with my back arching off the bed, just begging Dean to fuck me already. Telling him how long I’ve been waiting for this, and that I’m ready.

And he did, he was so temperate as he eased his cock in me, slowly letting my insides engulf him. It felt so good and I couldn’t stop crying at the fact that I was really leaving Dean. All those years thinking I could not survive without him, and now I already had a luggage packed, waiting by the door for tomorrow when Dean would drive me to the bus station and leave me there.

He licked at my tears as he held on my thighs. We were both a mess of sweat and happy eyes turned sad.

 

When he came inside me, I broke, clenching my thighs around his waist. He kissed my neck, the tears melting itself into my pulse.

I hated myself for leaving Dean, even begged him to come with me, but he just shook his head, said, ‘Sammy, I can’t.’ Sniffled a little, and then kissed my cheek.

 

But I understood all of it now, waiting there at the bus station with my backpack clutched tight to my chest, imaging it to be Dean instead. That me leaving would cause a break in Dean, one he would not be able to fix, and if he came with me, our lives would become scattered and I would never make it to Stanford.

Dean always wanted what’s best for me.

 

 

Getting on the bus, I turned and looked at the tracks the impala left in the mud. I could see the way they had carved themselves there.

And I half wondered if I would ever see Dean again.


End file.
